Jeeves and the Wedding Attire
by slightlytookish
Summary: Tuppy and Angela are finally getting married, and Jeeves disapproves of Bertie’s choice in wedding attire.


**Title**: Jeeves and the Wedding Attire

**Author**: SlightlyTookish 

**Fandom**: Jeeves and Wooster

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing! 

**Author's Notes**: Thank you to Elenar for a most helpful beta!

* * *

I returned home from the club with a whistle on my lips and my heart brimming with a happy sort of whatsit. Though experience has made me regard matrimony with a certain amount of wariness, particularly when Bertram is the one in danger of being dragged to the altar, I don't look down my nose at those who decide to feed out of the same bowl for life, particularly when one of my oldest chums has made a match with one of my dearest cousins. I only hoped that Tuppy would remember to leave something in the bowl for Angela.

"What ho, Jeeves," I said as he shimmered out of his lair to collect my hat and stick.

"Good evening, sir. I trust you had a pleasant time?"

"Absolutely corking," I replied, pretending not to notice the rummy look he cast on the parcel I carried. I needed a bit of a bracer before we turned to that topic so I asked Jeeves to bring me a whisky and soda while I reclined on the sofa, parcel perched safely on my lap.

After a few fortifying sips of the w. and s. I felt ready to speak. "Tuppy was at the club tonight, and in fine spirits. He and Angela have decided on a very traditional ceremony, Jeeves."

"Indeed, sir?"

I nodded the lemon.

"You've always been fond of Tuppy," I pointed out.

"Quite true, sir."

"He's not a bad chap, when he's not looping back the last ring over the Drones' swimming pool as one of his oldest pals is trying to swing across."

"As you say, sir."

"Are you aware that Tuppy's family hails from Scotland, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir. I recall you mentioning it during one of our visits to Brinkley Court."

I drained my glass before making my next move. I untied the parcel, causing the brown paper to peel away like the skin of an orange and revealing the fabric beneath. "Well, Jeeves?" I said, holding it up. "Tuppy tells me this is the Glossop family's ancestral tartan. Pretty jolly, what?"

Jeeves took a step back. His brow twitched about an eighth of an inch. I could see that the man was deeply moved. "Pardon me, sir, but are you proposing to wear that garment?"

"I am, Jeeves, I am," I replied. "All of the chaps at the Drones are, as a tribute to Tuppy's heritage on his wedding day."

Jeeves looked at the tartan as a particularly finicky eater might regard an armada of flies sailing across his soup. "It is most unsuitable, sir. The colours clash in an alarming way and I believe that a prolonged viewing of that particular pattern would cause considerable damage to one's vision."

"I say!" I exclaimed, but there was no reasoning with the man.

"If I might recommend a different choice of apparel, sir, your morning coat--"

"That's quite enough about morning coats, Jeeves," I said stiffly.

"Very good, sir."

"Save the talk of morning coats for lazy summer afternoons. I am going to wear this kilt to Tuppy and Angela's wedding."

"Very good, sir."

"And I trust that said kilt will not disappear or meet with an unfortunate end," I added sternly. I mean to say, one cannot forget the scorching of a beloved white mess jacket, what?

"As you say, sir. Would that be all, sir?" His face once more wore the stuffed frog expression, but I could tell by the tone of his voice that the only thing keeping Jeeves from telling the young master to go and boil his head was his keen sense of the feudal spirit. It was dashed distressing, but I couldn't very well let down Tuppy and the fellows at the Drones. Unconventional though it may be for one of London's well-dressed young gentlemen to wear a kilt, the Code of the Woosters did not allow one to abandon his friends.

"Yes, Jeeves, that will be all." I reclined against the cushions with a contented sigh. At long last Tuppy and Angela were on the path to holy wedlock and Jeeves had promised to leave my kilt well enough alone. The lark was on the wing and the snail was on the thorn and I couldn't help feeling that all was right in the world.

* * *

Jeeves was true to his word. The kilt did not vanish into the night, nor did I discover it scorched, torn, or otherwise un-wearable. I made certain to pack it myself before we set out for Brinkley Court, and on the morning of Tuppy and Angela's nuptials I was pleased to find the tartan still in one piece.

"Well, Jeeves, today is the big day."

"Indeed, sir."

"No longer may we count Tuppy Glossop amongst England's bachelors."

"Very true, sir."

For a moment I ruminated on old times before I heaved a pensive sigh and began to dress. "Bring me the kilt, Jeeves."

"Very good, sir." Moving more slowly than one of Aesop's tortoises, Jeeves repaired to the wardrobe and gingerly removed the garment from its shelf, holding it by the tips of his fingers as if it burned him.

I held out an impatient hand. "Jeeves."

"I do apologise, sir. I find that observing the pattern too closely dulls my senses. I will be better directly."

I let this pass. I could see that the matter of the kilt was still a painful one to him, and the Code of the Woosters dictates that one does not stand over the wounds of another with a salt shaker at the ready.

I had rather expected that the kilt would be designed like a lady's skirt, with a button or some thingummy in the back, so imagine my surprise when I shook out the folds of the fabric and saw that it was one very long piece of material, a bit like a curtain or a tablecloth. I perused it with a keen eye and discovered a couple of buckles at either end, but bally well couldn't see how I was supposed to put it on.

I was starting to think that things were getting a bit thick when Jeeves coughed gently, sounding like a sheep in the Highlands. "I believe, sir, that one is meant to wrap the fabric around one's body at the waist. If you would allow me, sir?"

"Right ho," I replied, handing it over. "Start wrapping, Jeeves."

He coughed delicately once more.

"Yes, Jeeves?"

"Are you aware, sir, that traditionally one does not wear any undergarments beneath a kilt?"

My eyes ricocheted out of my skull, rather like they do after I've drank one of Jeeves' restoratives. The sun seemed to dim, the birds stopped singing, and my room suddenly turned glacial, causing me to shudder violently.

"I only mention it because you said Mr. Glossop and Miss Travers have arranged for a very traditional wedding, sir."

"Oh, ah," I stammered. "Er, Jeeves?"

"Sir?" "I don't suppose you packed my morning coat, did you?"

"Yes, sir. I thought it might prove useful."

"And I don't suppose you could press it before the ceremony?"

"I pressed it yesterday evening, sir. It is hanging in your wardrobe. Shall I bring it to you, sir?"

"Yes, Jeeves. I won't be wearing the kilt today after all."

"Thank you very much, sir."


End file.
